


(I've seen the whole world collapse) In The Heart of a Memory Lapse

by winterlace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Piercings, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Punk Bucky Barnes, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterlace/pseuds/winterlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is it him?"</p>
<p>It's surprising how much Steve's existence hangs on those three words. After eight months he's tired. He's anxious. </p>
<p>He's hanging on the edge of falling into a trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Fountains by The Drips.

“Is it him?”

Steve hesitates at the doorway. He can hear Natasha and Sam in the kitchenette of the small apartment clearly, there’s the rustle of paper and a frustrated sort of sigh. The steady beat of fingers drumming against the bench. 

“You dunno?” Sam follows up to her silence.

“What he’s doing – it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit his MO. You and Steve have been tracking this man half way around the world while he hops around destroying Hydra bases for months and now he decides to remain in the same place for longer than a couple of weeks? Lets himself be seen? It feels wrong, Sam, tell me it doesn’t feel wrong to you?”

“Yeah, there’s something off about it. Should we be telling Steve about this?”

“Tell me what?” He pushes at the door and doesn’t hide that he’d been eavesdropping. Natasha’s expression is guarded but Sam looks mildly surprised. Captain America doesn’t eavesdrop. But Steve had never really fitted the image that America had sold to the public of him, and he’s finding himself more willing to do things now that he might have flinched away from before. 

Between Natasha and Sam on the kitchenette bench is a photograph. One that she eventually picks up and offers to him mutely. 

When he takes the photo from her his heart stutters.

“A contact of mine gave me the tip. I haven’t been able to confirm in person but they supplied the pictures.”

The picture he’s holding is in shadow and appears to have been taken from a roof looking down into an alley. The gloomy light illuminates a dim profile glancing over a leather-clad shoulder. The hair is still long, tied back but looks to be shaved underneath. There is a cigarette pinched between two fingers and the exhale of smoke drifting into the darkness. There’s no hint of the metal arm, the appendage covered by the leather jacket, the hand wrapped in a glove. 

“He knows he’s being watched.” Steve sighs, handing the photograph back to Natasha. 

“That’s what I thought; that’s what my contact thought.” She fingered the edge of the photo. “My contact had the feeling that… almost as if he was angling to be noticed. To be seen.”

“Man that’s weird. This is too weird. Steve we’ve been following this dude for months now and we barely had a trail to follow in Europe and now he’s letting himself be photographed? It’s not right.” Sam is already trying to convince him not to go there. That he thought it was a trap. That Natasha thought it was a trap. 

It even feels like a trap to Steve.

“Natasha can you visually confirm this?” He finally finds himself asking, because he has to know. Regardless.

“Tonight.” She affirms.

He turns away from them for a moment. He knows if he goes with her tonight he’ll make himself known; he’s compromised when it comes to Bucky, he knows this so well now after these past months. Bucky is his weak spot. Bucky is his Achilles heel.

And it feels like a trap.

~

“It’s him.” She pulls off her leather jacket as she walks into the room, draping it over the back of one of the chairs in the small dining area and vaulting over the back of the lounge, dropping down opposite Steve. 

He looks up from the file laid out in front of him on the coffee table. The light of the TV he had put on for background noise or to distract himself, he’s not sure, catches on the glossy photographs. He’d asked Natasha not to tell him where she was going that night; he couldn’t know the location even though he knew it was here in the city. Their city. New York. 

He can’t ruin it this time.

He has to bite his tongue from asking all the questions that buzz around in his brain. But he let’s his eyes meet hers and plead silently. 

“Steve… this is… what he’s doing feels wrong.”

He lets the breath he’s been holding since she walked back in escape him in a disappointed rush.

“He made me the moment I fell in behind him. He turned and he looked right at me. He stared into my eyes Steve and then he turned back around and let me continue following him. He knows we’re watching.”

Steve breathes in sharply. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

Her green eyes are alight as she contemplates him briefly. He likes Natasha, truly. And after everything that had happened in DC he thinks that she might be the one that he trusts most out of all the Avengers. Her opinion on this means a lot to him even though he knows… he just knows that whatever she says next might not stop him from running head long into whatever this was regardless.

“It feels wrong but… I don’t think it’s a trap.”

Relief sweeps through him. “Okay. Tomorrow then?”

She nods finally. “I don’t think we’re going to figure out what he’d doing from just watching. Tomorrow it is.”

~

“So what’s this place that he’s hanging out at?” They’ve convened around the small dining table with the file spread out in front of them. There’s a detailed maps of the venue, of the area, of the exits and entrances and places they could get into trouble or escape it. Sam is studying a picture of a grubby hole in wall entrance only recognizable from the walking brick wall of a man that guarded the door.

“It’s a club, live music mostly. Underground bands of the punk genre.” Natasha supplies as she turns to Steve, “It’s a type of music.”

“I’ve listened to the Sex Pistols, Nat… I know what punk is.” He replies drily. He catches Natasha’s smirk out of the corner of his eye and feels the corners of his own mouth turn up slightly as if they had just shared a private joke.

“So what’s the plan?” Sam finally asks.

“We go in. We watch. We wait. See if he approaches us. After last night I imagine he will be expecting us. Observation otherwise.” Natasha looks up to meet Steve’s eyes again. “Are you sure about this Steve?”

He doesn’t let himself answer straight away even though he’s already certain of his reply. “I’ve given you both this choice before and I’ll give it to you again but I’ve not changed my mind about going after him. He’s my best friend and I know already that he’s not the man that I knew but I couldn’t abandon him, even after all this. So I’m going but if either of you feel that you can’t come tonight than I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“Course not, Cap. You’re too good of a person to ever do that.” Sam replies with a wide grin. “I followed you half way around the world man, into worse situations than this so I can damn well follow you down an alley to a punk club.”

When he finds himself glancing at Natasha again she’s wearing that enigmatic half smile of hers. “Do you even need to ask?” Answering his unspoken question and he lets himself chuckle at bit at that. “Anyway…” She adds. “I bought presents for everyone. I know how both of you dress and I don’t want to walk in there with targets on our foreheads.”

“Him I get - he’s a bit grandpa, but what’s wrong with how I dress?!” Sam replies indignantly.

The redhead merely raises an eyebrow. “It’s a rough crowd. They don’t like outsiders and we wanna blend.” She pulls three plastic bags stuffed full of clothing from under her chair and dumps them on the table. 

~

“Stand still! And keep pouting like that, it’ll just amuse Clint more.” Natasha has her phone out and poised, snapping a picture. Sam is visible just behind her trying to muffle his laughter but failing miserably. 

Steve just rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.” He mutters as she finally lowers her phone, Sam peeking over her shoulder as she smiles smugly at the screen.

“Dude… you look like a hot topic mall goth who went through their scene phase entirely too late in life.”

“If I understood half of what you said just then…” but the words die on Steve’s tongue as Natasha flashed him the photo she had just taken. “… this is a terrible idea.” He ends with a whine but Natasha lets a little giggle escape between her teeth and Sam’s head is thrown back with laughter again and Steve doesn’t actually find it all that terrible. 

He doesn’t get the appeal of the clothes he’s wearing but after taking a minute to Google punk images on his phone, he figures it could have been far worse than it ended up.

The jeans Natasha had picked out were so fitted that Steve doubted he could get into them though he eventually did (Natasha had advised him through the closed bathroom door that wiggling would probably help. He could hear Sam’s muffled laughter following that.) they were still just so _damn_ tight. While the tee she had included might have been black once but was now a mottled grey, a series of small holes around the neck and hem. It was so thin he barely felt like he was wearing anything all.

She’d included boots in the bag. Black leather; well worn in. And when he’d finally emerged from the bathroom she had adjusted the way he’d tied his laces and then thrown a dark denim jacket in his direction.

Sam’s outfit was very similar, though Steve definitely noticed that Sam’s pants were nowhere near as snug as his own. (He also noticed that his pants had nothing on Natasha’s, which appeared to be painted on rather than actual fabric.) Sam also had the benefit of having a tee that wasn’t so thin that you could see his nipples through it in certain light.

That’s when Natasha had pulled out her phone.

“Please tell me you’re only sending this to Clint.” He begs.

“I may have sent to Stark too but he needs a bit of a laugh and he knows not to ever bring it up or share it with anyone else.”

“And how do you know that he knows that?”

Natasha shrugs while she casually ties her hair up into a messy ponytail. “I threatened to sic Pepper on to him.” She turns back to them. “Ready?”

“Not really.” Steve replies, tugging uselessly at his pants again.

“Just wear your angry dad face. You’ll fit right in.” She says as they troop out the door, Sam sniggering behind him.

~

They end up at the back of the club, leaning against the railing of the balcony sticky with stale beer and God knows what else. The music is so loud that Steve can feel the vibrations of the floor echo up his legs and rattling in his chest. He’s reminded of the asthma he hadn’t had since the serum.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK HE IS?” He finds himself yelling into Natasha’s ear. She points to the seething mass in front of the stage. Steve admits that he’s watched a few things on the internet. Screaming girls at a Beatles concert. The crowd at Woodstock. But he’s never seen anything quite like this. The mass moves as if it is one, in fluid, ocean like waves and yet at the same time there’s a fierce sort of violence that is occurring in one particular section where people appear to be shoving each other aggressively. 

Steve’s eyes scan the crowd frantically, even though he knows that it would be unlikely to make out anyone specifically but then it’s like a chill passes through his body and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He lets his eyes move over the crowd with more care until they connect with someone else’s and a sensation akin to having all the oxygen sucked from his body washes over him.

Their eye contact couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds before Steve watches Bucky turn away and disappear into the heaving mass. He tries to keep him in his sight but one moment he can see the back of Bucky’s head moving through the crowd (hair tied back, the underneath shaved just like it had looked in the surveillance photo) and then he’s gone and Steve can’t help the way his heart just plummets.

And he finds himself pushing away from the rail, turning toward the stairs to go after him. To find him. Something. And the lights are changing colours against the wall and he can hear Natasha and Sam call out after him in the way that you recognize the familiarity of the noise the sound of your name makes even though you can barely hear from the buzz in your ears and the intensity of the music but he’s already half-way down the stairs when it happens.

The PA cuts out and a ringing voice booms over the suddenly silent club. “Police. Nobody move.”

The silence holds for a beat before everything shatters. The crowd is moving, shoving and running all in directions. The exits thrown open and people scrambling over each other, over furniture, over the stage and the amps and Steve is being pulled along in their tide. He glances back desperately towards the balcony, searching frantically for any sign of Natasha or Sam but they have already disappeared and then there is the cold, unforgiving clamp of metal on his wrist and for a moment he panics until a sharp tug pulls him out from the surge.

The harsh metal against his wrist never slackens.

He finds himself being towed down a dark corridor and pulled through a door, blinking up at the night sky above him and the frigid air biting at his arms and it occurs to him that he has left the jacket in the club.

He’s turning to the person in front of him, slightly dazed.

For a moment he thinks something bursts inside of him but instead he’s being lead to a fire escape and gradually pushed up it.

“We gotta go up, punk.”

~

From the roof they watch the crowd from the club scatter like ants. The police nabbing some of them, others slip past with the typical street kid evasive manoeuvres that law enforcement had never learnt to anticipate.

Steve forces himself to watch them for a moment before he lets himself glance across to the man beside him.

There’s an odd sense of self-possession there that Steve didn’t expect. He’s not the man he knew, but he’s not that man that he last saw on the helicarrier either. 

“Aren’t ya givin’ yaself a headache lookin’ at me from the corners of your eyes?”

Steve blinks and then turns completely towards the man.

“Buck…” Steve starts.

“James.” He interrupts.

Steve feels the sigh seep through him in time to the achingly slow drop of his heart. Curses himself for having invested so much in such a brief moment of eye contact. From the utterance of a well worn affectionate endearment.

When his body is pushed back with such an intense velocity that he can hear the woosh of the air going past him he considers what a raging idiot he is that he came up here, alone, with the brainwashed Hydra assassin. He resigns himself to falling from the building, ending up on the concrete below, broken and bloody. Instead he’s surprised when his body collides with the brick of the buildings elevator shaft, the impact resonates against the back of his head, jarring him to the point of seeing stars.

He swears he hears laughter.

No.

He’s actually hearing laughter.

When he looks up into those grey eyes he’s startled at what he sees there.

Something dark. Something heavy. Something warm.

Something almost familiar.

He feels the slide of a rough, calloused hand along his jaw and he’s entirely too terrified to move, to question, to do anything. His teeth grinding against the moan caught in his throat. 

“I think I’ve wanted to do this for awhile.” And the voice is soft. So soft. Low and dark and dragging Steve down in an undercurrent of desire and then there’s lips against his and he freezes. He doesn’t know what to do but he lets himself gasp against the sensation of a flick of tongue against his lips and his mouth is open and Bucky… no James’ tongue is there, licking into his mouth and Steve feels the whimper in his throat rather than hears it. And then he feels…

“What… what was that?” He gasps out as he pulls away sharply and Bucky… no JAMES has his head thrown back and he’s chuckling a little and Steve’s brain can’t catch up. Can’t resolve this man with the one he had met on the bridge, the one he’d been chasing around Europe and he’s trying to think of all the ways, all the things that had happened that had led to this.

“Do you like it?” Buc-James says quietly. Rolling his tongue against his lips reveals the metal bar that neatly intersects through the centre of his tongue and Steve is just… “I got it done in London. After that mess in Calais.”

And Steve, Steve knows what he’s talking about. He’d been there with Sam. It was the one time they had thought that they had actually gotten close to him. The carnage had been astounding and there had been a heavy blood trail from the compound, as if someone had gotten away but no one had gotten away from the Winter Soldier before. It had been him. Steve had been sure and he had followed the trail until it had ended abruptly just within the tree line of the woods. 

“Did it hurt?” Steve finds himself asking and _James_ is smiling a little.

“Yes. In the most perfect way.”

“You cut your hair.”

“I had to, for this.” Hi head turns slightly revealing the symbol inked into the skin behind his ear. Steve’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of the wing that he knows so well. 

“Shit comes back in bits and pieces Steve and sometimes it’s fuckin’ hard to figure out what really happened and what they planted in there but I remember you comin’ to get me out of that bloody Hydra factory and I needed somethin’ to remind me. I knew that one was real. I needed something to remind me of that.” Those eyes are meeting his and there’s something desperate there. 

Steve lets himself lean back into the wall, feeling the chill of the bricks against his spine. The prickle of the rough surface digging into his back through the thin material of the tee grounded him in the present.

“Got anymore?” He asks casually and he doesn’t know if he means tattoos or piercings or something else and he gets another of those laughs. He’s starting to treasure them.

He doesn’t get a verbal answer so much as B-, James lifting the edge of his tee and Steve is transfixed. He can’t make out exactly what he’s looking at in the dim light but he can see the dark lines that intersect across the pale skin of James right side. 

“It’s only been eight months…” Steve says shocked. 

“I heal quick these days. Not as quick as you, pal, but quick enough.” He replies, dropping his tee back down.

It’s then Steve’s brain decides to catch up with him. “You kissed me!” He says slightly stunned. Steve can still feel the residual tingle in his lips. He’s trying hard not to think about kissing him again; this man is his best friend, or at least was once.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to get to that.”

“You said you wanted to do that for awhile?

James shrugs. “I think, maybe, from before, I wanted to. I told you shit comes back scattered and I know we never… but I think I thought about it.”

“Did it satisfy your curiosity?” And he’s not thinking about how much he really wants James to kiss him again. About how he wants to explore that mouth, feel the smooth ball of the piercing run against his tongue, set his teeth into that full lower lip.

He’s trying to not think of these things when he gets a sly grin. “And if I said it didn’t?” 

“You gonna kiss me again?”

“I’m thinkin’ about it.”

“Thinking isn’t doing.”

“You’ve always been this mouthy, haven’t you?”

“I think you liked that about me.”

James has moved back towards Steve, they’re speaking low voices, and he’s right there and Steve wants to pull him in, destroy that last distance between them, James is already so close that Steve can feel the heat radiating from his body. It reminds Steve of those winters in their Brooklyn apartment with their cots pushed together so that he wouldn’t get too cold. Because the cold meant sickness and sickness could mean death and Buck, he had cared so much. And now he is right here and he is staring at Steve’s lips and Steve is staring back at his and he’s thinking about that piercing again and he’s letting himself think about all those things he had never let himself think about. Those things that he had hidden away; never dared let himself think about, those whispers of feelings that had always lurked in the back of his mind. Those thoughts that he had only pulled out and examined just after the Alps and the train and again just after he had woken up and discovered the world changed. But now they were both here together in this world that was different and Bu- JAMES had kissed him.

James had said he was thinking about doing again.

And they’re just standing there staring at each other.

“So?” Steve ventures and the word is barely out of his mouth before James is moving in closer, not quite touching, not quite there but so very close.

“What do you want?” James’ voice is low, dark and laced with the edge of a threat and Steve finds himself wanting a follow through on that.

“Do it.” He finds himself answering fiercely. “Go on…” And his lips are covered again; the coarseness of James’ stubble scratching at him and Steve can’t help the noise he makes into the kiss. His hand fisting in the front of James’ tee, pulling him close enough that their bodies are touching at almost every point. Then his tongue is there, meeting Steve’s own, and the odd smoothness of the piercing sending jolts of electricity straight to his dick.

It’s hard, demanding and hot and everything and Steve doesn’t want it to stop.

James is the one that pulls away first, breathing hard and warm against Steve’s neck, not moving his body away at all. They’re both hard; they can both feel each other pressed as close as they are. And Steve can barely concentrate on anything else, his whole body sparking with desire and want. 

“You gotta give me some more time Stevie. I’m not quite there yet.”

Steve finds he can’t answer. There’s too much in his head and none of it’s right. None of it articulates what he’s _feeling_.

“Jesus fucking Christ, to think I forgot what this felt like.” He adds chuckling into Steve’s neck. “I think I jacked off for the first time in… I can’t even remember and Jesus, Steve all I could see was you and I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard in my life but then again - I can’t really remember that either.” And Steve feels himself moan a little at the words. 

“Can you wait a little bit longer?”

Steve swallows past the lump in his throat and nods. Manages to mutter out a strangled affirmation.

He lets his eyes fall shut as a soft kiss is pressed to his forehead. He feels small again and then cold when James finally pulls away. He thought he’d forgotten what it was to be small and cold. He hadn’t forgotten at all. He forces his eyes open to stare at the man in front of him.

“You promise to come find me if you need help?” He asks with an undercurrent of command. He’s desperate for anything but and unknowable chasm of time that spreads between them.

“’Course.”

“Promise.”

“Jesus. Fuck. Fine. I promise. Bossy bastard.”

“Good.”

They stare at each other for a moment longer and Steve lets his eyes drink in every detail. He wants to commit this moment in all its clarity, to memory. James in his black jeans, torn at the knee, tucked into black combat boots similar to the ones Natasha had made Steve wear. The clearly worn leather jacket thrown over a dark blue tee that, like Steve’s own, had seen better days. He lets himself drown in the image for a moment. 

“I’ll catch ya ‘round, Steve.”

“Wait… what about…”

James turns, already laughing again. “You don’t think I can’t find ya if I need ya, punk?” before he’s vaulted over the edge of the building and down the way they come up.

By the time Steve gathers himself enough to go to the fire escape there’s no sign of the man that he knew as his best friend, the former Winter Soldier, and now something else.


	2. Chapter 2

“Yo Rogers! Package!” 

The parcel comes hurtling through the air and Steve catches it one handed without looking up from his sketchbook. 

“Maaaannn… how do you do that dude?” Sam whines and Steve hears Nat scoff into her super-sized cup of coffee.

“Super soldier, you idiot.”

He can’t help the warm smile that spreads across his face, listening to them bicker. He thinks that he might have lost his mind over the past month if it hadn’t been for the both of them. He’d come home that night, completely and utterly emotionally wreaked, to inquisitive expressions and the only thing Natasha had asked when he pleaded with them to leave it till the morning was if they were safe. She didn’t question him at all when he affirmed that they were, for the night at least.

And when that next morning had come, with its inevitable questions that would make the night before less his, it sits so heavy on Steve’s chest that it’s almost as if it’s Mjölnir is holding him down. But they don’t ask more than they really need too, though Sam is cautious when Steve tells them he’s going to stop actively seeking Bucky… no, James, out. 

It’s slightly later, when Sam leaves the apartment for groceries that Steve takes Natasha aside and asks her a favour. 

“So you want me to follow him?”

“Just keep track, like what you’ve been doing but don’t tell me, just… make sure he doesn’t get in over his head.”

“Are you sure Steve, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

He hadn’t told them about the kisses, just the relevant parts of their rooftop conversation. The kisses were his. He wanted it to stay that way. Just his and James. The memory of them is still fresh in his mind, he had barely slept with the constant examining of them. 

Even with his serum-enhanced memory he was terrified of forgetting any single second. Any moment or detail.

“Yes.” He had replied with fervour.

And she had accepted his answer with a curt incline of her head and said no more.

They had established a routine, the three of them, though it was starting to be more often than not just Steve and Sam, as Natasha continuously disappeared for reasons she never elaborated on (Steve refused to consider if any of them had anything to do with James. He found once he let the thought worm through his brain he would be hopeless at distracting himself from it.) But it was an easy routine that worked for them. And Steve did distract himself where possible even though he found himself aimlessly staring into the distance thinking about James more often then he would care to admit, but as the days between that night and the present continued to grow Steve found himself growing more impatient, more anxious for news.

That night he had struggled with the idea of asking Nat for information even though he knew she would hold him to his rule of not telling him James’ movements.

That’s when he catches sight of the handwriting on the front of the package. The shock must have shown on his face because he hears Sam call out his name with concern and then Natasha asks if he’s okay.

“Ugh… um… sorry… yeah… I…” He’s still studying the package in his large hands. 

There’s no return of address, of course, the postscript is London and the handwriting is as if seventy years didn’t spread between them. 

“Hey… Steve?” Natasha’s hand on his forearm grounds him forcefully in the present. The imagined draft of the old apartment in Brooklyn immediately disappears with her warm touch.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s - it’s from him. From James.” 

“Well, are you going to open it?” She asks softly and he looks up slowly and meets her eyes. There’s nothing hidden there, he used to think he would never see anything honest in those eyes but the last year had really changed that. There’s no expectation there at all. He turns quickly to Sam and the other man just shrugged.

“Don’t look at me dude, it’s your call.”

He nods and tears it open. 

What falls out is a USB stick and a few sheets of paper folded in half. 

Steve doesn’t notice when he unfolds the paper that Natasha had silently taken Sam by the hand and lead him out of the apartment.

~

_Stevie,_

_I’m fine. Firstly. I’m staying in London._

_I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Ever since the rooftop. I thought about you a lot before and didn’t think it was possible to think about you more but apparently it is. I haven’t been sleeping a lot lately, that ain’t because of you but I need to get my head in the game and someone told me that writing shit down might help. I figured I’d give it a shot, write you while I’m at it._

_After I fished you out of the Potomac I didn’t know what to do with myself. Everything in me was screaming to get to a safe house and wait for orders but I guess there was this other part of me that told me that wasn’t right either. Jesus I had no fucking clue who I was but Steve, on the helicarrier you’d been so damn sure and somehow you shone in my mind. I think you’d always had._

_I stayed in DC for a few days; I guess I wasn’t really sure what to do. I stole some clothes, some cash, stayed hidden. And then little things started coming back. I walked past a diner one morning and the smell of bacon cooking was so powerful and I was so damn hungry Steve and then I’m sitting in the alley behind the diner and all I can see is this face smiling up at me and that smile was the damn world. And the damn radio was talking about Captain America and Hydra and SHIELD and some inquest up on Capitol Hill. And I felt like someone had pulled out my intestines and shoved ‘em back in wrong. I felt wrong._

_I thought about ending it there. I could get my hands on a gun. I knew it wouldn’t be hard. It’d been nearly a week and I knew there was no way I wanted to go back to my masters. All they could give me was pain and I was done. I wanted to be done._

_But then I remembered that smile. And I thought that maybe that smile meant that there was someone. Someone important. And that smile wouldn’t let me do it._

_The Smithsonian and history books I skimmed in bookstores confirmed what you had told me. That we had known each other, that I was once the man known as Bucky Barnes and that as far as I could tell I was over ninety years old but didn’t look like it. But neither did you._

_And things kept coming back Steve and I remember being in London. In fact, I remembered being in London during the war. Me and you drinking in that little pub while the boys were singing, after you rescued us. You asked me if I was ready to follow Captain America and I said I was following that stupid little kid from Brooklyn too dumb to back out of a fight. I remember feeling like I would follow you anywhere Steve._

_But that wasn’t the only time I remember being in London._

_I think it was sometime in the seventies. I’m still not a hundred percent on who I killed. I remember the hotel suite and the blood on the carpet but I couldn’t tell you who it was or what part of London. I think the only reason I remembered it was because I remember leaving the hotel and this kid with shining blonde hair ran across in front of me and I was struck dumb by the way his hair caught in the sunlight. I’m pretty sure he reminded me of you even though I couldn’t remember you. There was something in me. Something they could never quite burn out even though they tried. Did they try._

_I don’t have anything after that. That’s where that memory ends for me. I dunno if I’ll get the rest of it back._

_The thing is I came back to London because I remembered it. And because Brooklyn was too obvious, that would be the first place I would have looked for me if I was you or Hydra. All I knew was that I didn’t want to get captured again._

_The thing is Steve, London is different. I barely remembered shit about it from the seventies and I know now that it had the shit bombed out of it during the war, that pub we’d been in probably no more than ash and dust. I wanted it to remind me. I wanted to remember and I just ended up being as lost here as I had been in DC. I was a barely functioning shell. I didn’t even think I was human. I still struggle with that some days._

_There’s a guy here that I’ll probably introduce you to one day. When I’ve gotten stuff sorted out and I know that I’m ready but all you need to know is that he probably saved me. He’s a vet. Recognized me having a flashback even though I didn’t even know what the damn flashback was about. He lost a leg in Iraq; the arm doesn’t even freak him out. He took me back to his place. Gave me a blanket, a hot meal and a place to sleep on his couch and when I woke him up a couple of hours later screaming from the nightmares he ends up lying on the floor with me and playing me some music._

_Jesus Steve, have you listened to what they call music these days? Honestly, it blew my fucking mind. And I don’t know, but the first time in for fucking ever I literally felt like I had a somewhat decent grip on reality. And he’s playing me this bloody music and I say to him “What the fuck is this?” And he’s smiling at me and he’s all calm and shit. Telling me that it calms him down but it was so violent. But it kind of calmed me down too._

_I’ve put the first song he played me that night on the usb. I dunno what you’ve been listening to since you woke up but Steve - if there’s anything that makes me grateful that I’m still bloody alive when my bones should be ash in those Alps, it’s this. I have never felt more alive than when I’ve got this music, listening to it, dancing to it, being in the crowd of a club like I was that night. Nothing makes me feel more vital._

_That was until I kissed you._

_James_

~

Steve listens to the song on his laptop. 

Steve listens to the song on his laptop on repeat until Natasha and Sam finally get back from wherever they disappeared to at which point Steve is just lying on the couch with the laptop propped up on his knees and the letter clutched to his chest.

He thinks he has it memorized by now.

“Dude. What are you listening to?” Sam head appears over the back of the couch. Steve catches his eyes move to the usb plugged into the laptop. “Wait… your boy sent you a one song mixtape?”

“I don’t think you can call it a mixtape Sam, if there’s only one song.” Natasha gracefully folds into the chair opposite.

Steve reluctantly hits pause.

“What’s a mixtape?”

Sam looks to Natasha, “Are you going to take this one or am I?”

~

Five days later the alert on Natasha’s phone echoes out through the apartment. Sam throws her the duffle bag she always has packed. Steve tells her to be careful.

She just smiles knowingly at both of them before disappearing out the door.

~

Natasha’s still not back when the next package arrives. Another letter. Another usb. Steve shuts himself in his room for this one. Sam doesn’t object.

~

_Steve,_

_Yesterday I remembered Coney Island._

_I was in the Tube and I felt the rush of air on my face and then I could smell the ocean. You got your fingers covered with cotton candy and spent a ridiculous amount of time licking them clean and every time I looked at you out of the corner of my eye you had a finger in your mouth and I can’t remember what I said but you looked up at me with those determined blue eyes of yours and complained that you felt sticky._

_Jesus Christ Steve. You had no idea. I bet you still don’t. The effect you have._

_I wanted to say that first. I wanted to tell you I remember good things too. Sometimes._

_Everyone has their good and bad days Steve but I’m having a real bad day today. I woke up not really sure what year it was and I was having a hard time remembering who I was. In the beginning slipping back into the Soldier happened often and I don’t want to be that blank man waiting for the next kill order but it’s a struggle to not slip into him, it’s hard to focus on the more, the history, the person they tried to fry away. They mostly succeeded. And I hope you know that Steve and I guess that’s why I insist on being called James. There ain’t much of me left pal. James Buchanan Barnes is a broken thing, badly repaired and thrown out on to a world that doesn’t need another monster. These days there’s really nothing for it. It’s better for everyone if I just lock myself away. This world don’t need me in it._

_But I’ve got a mission. The mission matters._

_Do you remember what it’s like to be warm? I think I can Steve. Sometime before the war and we’re at Coney Island, your fingers are in your mouth and the sun hits your hair just so. I think that was the last time I was warm. Can’t remember otherwise anyway._

_I keep closing my eyes and seeing a man on the floor with a red halo around his head. I made the hole in his forehead. I know that. A perfect shot right between the eyes. Nothing less is expected of the Soldier. But there’s a little girl hiding under a table and I know he drags her out… no. I drag her out. It’s me. I’m the one that covers her mouth with my metal hand and I hold on to her till she just stops. Stops forever. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Has no pulse. And then I burn the place to the ground. I did that._

_Sometimes I just want it to stop. I want to stop remembering all the faces of those people. I’m swimming in blood, Steve, drowning in it. It’s not just on my hands, it’s everywhere._

_So I guess I justify it, I can bleed a little for those people. And tomorrow I can go out and make them pay for all those lives they made me take._

_I’m sorry._

_James._

~

Steve curls up in the center of his bed and cries. He cries until his pillow is damp with his tears, the letter clutched tight to his chest. He cries until the ache in the cavity his heart occupies eases slightly. He cries until he thinks he can’t cry anymore, plugs the usb into his laptop and plays the one song that is on it.

And then he cries some more.

~

Natasha returns. 

Steve asks no questions.

She tells him no lies.

~

“Are you okay man?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

He ignores the way Sam eyes him with concern. The way Natasha’s linger on him when she thinks he doesn’t notice. He concentrates on breathing when it gets too hard and he feels lightheaded.

He concentrates on a memory of a hot, bruising kiss. The warmth of a body pressing into his, the taste that he imagined his could still find on the edge of his lips.

~

The next package is postmarked Stockholm. That’s enough to make Steve pause for a moment. He can feel Sam and Natasha trying to watch him nonchalantly. (Natasha is actually succeeding; Sam is peeking over the lip of his coffee mug rather obviously.) Until Natasha’s phone alert goes off again.

“Damn.” She hissed through her teeth.

“Again? You just got back two days ago!”

“I’ve got to get to Stockholm. Bag?” She grabs the bag out of the air as Sam throws it her way.

“Stockholm?” Steve questions quietly.

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.” She says to Steve. “Look after him.” She directs at Sam.

Once she’s gone Sam turns to Steve. “I dunno much about this super secret spy shit but it can’t be too bad if it’s Stockholm, right?”

“Can’t it?” Steve holds up the package and taps the postmark.

“Fuck.”

~

_Steve,_

_I watched a movie called ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ recently during down time._

_(Sometimes I catch myself thinking about how I want to share things with you or experience them with you. Some day I wanna take you on a real date however that even works these days because I just found out about Tinder and Steve did you know about Tinder? But you and me and a real date because I remember. No. I know. I know that you used to like to go to the movie theatre. I remember the way the fresh popcorn smelled. I remember the way you smiled at the screen and that it felt like the sun coming out after rain. And I want to take you now and watch you smile again.)_

_I picked it cause I liked the title._

_Turns out it’s from a poem. Not even a new one. Older than us. “How happy is the blameless vestals lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot.” (I may or may not have that last line now tattooed on my hip. It’s still fresh. The flesh pulls a little when I move a certain way. I like that feeling, it’s a reminder that I possess my own vessel.)_

_Have you watched that movie Steve?_

_I’ve been told that it’s a bit of a cult classic._

_It was heavy going for a bit there. But I have a good technique for flashbacks now. Or panic attacks from post-traumatic stress, I’ve been told they’re called. We knew it as shell shock in our day, right? At least, I remember Ma calling it that when Pa had one of his days. Ma’s face is a bit hazy but I remember her voice well enough. Don’t remember much about Pa. I had a sister though, didn’t I? Wikipedia tells me her name was Rebecca but we called her Becca, didn’t we?_

_Breathe in through your nose. Out through your mouth._

_Pause buttons are one of those modern miracles._

_You should watch that movie Steve._

_James._

~

“Have you ever watched Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind?” He finds himself asking Sam; he has the letter in one hand and the now customary usb stick in the other. 

The other man sighs audibly but regards Steve with a steady eye. “I’ll get the DVD. You go find a box of tissues. We’ll need them.”

He doesn’t say anything when he finds Sam reaching for the tissues as often as he does.

~

The usb stick again only contains one song. 

Steve tries to Google the lyrics but he’s unsuccessful.

He listens to the song over and over until he thinks he has the lyrics down. 

He keeps listening long after. Pressing his fingertips hard against his eyelids. His eyes haven’t stopped stinging since the end of the movie. They’re hot against the pads of his fingers. They burn.

~

“We watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind while you were gallivanting around Sweden.”

“I like that one.”

“How was Stockholm?” 

He tries to ignore the way Natasha stares at him, her eyes looking right through him into the heart of him. She strips him bare with a cursory glance. 

“Fine.” Her answer is hard, no room for more discussion. She’s cutting off the conversation and he doesn’t know if it’s because he told her that he doesn’t want to know, that he asked her to watch and not tell him or if because she actually doesn’t want to share what happened in Stockholm. “I have to see Stark.” She adds. She leaves without offering anything else.

Sam watches Steve out of the corner of his eyes the whole afternoon.

~

“Are you ever not on that thing?” There’s four large pizzas spread out across the table. Steve’s fuller than he can ever remember feeling, a heavy warmth that sets low in his stomach and fills his limbs with lethargy. He’s stretched out over the couch, lazily focused on the TV that plays some movie that Sam had picked out. 

Natasha however sits with her tablet, quietly tapping away, distracting Sam.

“I have emails.”

“How many emails?”

“I have a few addresses.”

“Ugh. Spy.”

“Ugh. Soldier.”

There’s a fondness in their bickering. Steve can almost feel himself slip away into sleep from just listening to them combined with the heaviness of his body.

“Nat?”

Steve’s eyes pop open at Sam’s concern, turning his head to peer at the red head. She looks unsettled. Which for Natasha was the equivalent of looking spooked and that gets Steve worried, fast.

“Another mission?” Steve queries softly.

“Nat…. Natasha what is it, you’re giving me the spooks.” Sam actually looks a little freaked out.

She huffs out a breath that Steve didn’t realize she was holding. “It’s an email, an address that I’ve had since the KGB, one that SHIELD didn’t know about.” She pauses. “I had a feeling. I mostly check it out of habit.” She pauses again, appears to re-read whatever it was that she’s received. “I wonder how… no. Later.” She says to herself. “It’s co-ordinates.” She announces. “Texas. Hydra base. He says ‘A favour from little miss muffet and co. Too big for me, spider. Take the birds of prey and the star spangled man with a plan.’ He signs it from the frosty footman. He estimates at the number of agents to be around a hundred, maybe more.”

Steve finds himself sitting straight up and almost falling off the couch. “What?”

“The frosty footman? What sort of badly concealed…” Sam mutters. 

“Time frame is limited. Dammit. I need to call Clint.”

“What?”

But she already has her phone out. “Where are you? I need you to catch a flight to Texas. Houston. We’ll meet you there.”

“Natasha?”

“Steve. Get your bag.”

“Nat - ”

“Steve. Get. Your. Bag.”

~

His apology is quiet, barely audible over the sound of the plane and Sam’s soft snoring on his other side. He knows Natasha hears him because her hand slips into his and squeezes tightly.

“I’m on your side Steve.” She whispers against his ear. 

He believes it.

“If you ever want to talk about… not specifics because they’re for you but… Steve maybe you should talk about what he writes to you, just, it worries us. Sam and I…”

He finds himself smiling at her. “I know. I’m okay Nat. But I’ll talk, if I need to.”

He squeezes her hand in return.

~

“NATASHA!?”

He’d lost her five minutes ago; an explosion had rocked the ground beneath him throwing him against a wall. Glass had rained down on him, his skin blistering in the heat and his vision blurs out. Her name is ripped from his throat with urgency, they needed to get out, and they needed to get out now. He wasn’t sure how much longer the building would last before it collapsed in on them. Sam and Clint had almost made it at last radio contact.

“NATASHA?!” He shouts again into the hazy dimness of the corridor. Dust and grit is falling from the ceiling. He doesn’t get so much get an answer as the sound of fast footfalls and labored breathing.

“RUN!” She pants at him barely breaking her stride. A manila folder clutched tightly to her chest.

In the end they make it out alive and mostly unhurt. Sam has a deep cut on his forearm that requires stitches. Clint favours his left leg after putting too much pressure on his right sends him crashing to the dirt. Natasha has a small cut above her brow and Steve has sore ribs from a particularly unexpected strong kick from a Hydra goon but otherwise they’re fine. The flight home feels longer than the flight there and sucks what energy they have left out of them. Steve tries not to think about what would have happened if James had gone in there alone. 

The thought keeps him awake even as Sam and Clint drift off either side of him. Natasha sits one aisle over, the manila folder still firmly in her grasp.

He doesn’t see her open it once.

~

“Hi there.”

She’s leaning casually against their apartment door with a knowing smile that draws Steve up short. Her presence is such a shock that his mind draws a blank for a moment before he has time to threat assess her. 

She’s wearing thin tight pants that are blindingly gold, tucked into boots that shine like the rainbow in an oil slick. A worn grey tank that has ‘Jack Daniels’ plastered on the front, open down her side so that Steve can see the black lace of her bra - he feels the rush of warmth to his cheeks when his notices that. But then he notices the package that she spins between her hands.

“He said you were handsome.” She adds, looking directly at Steve, still smiling.

“And you are?” Natasha’s clipped tone cuts through.

She just redirects that smile at the red head instead. “Little Miss Muffet, sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and whey. When along came a spider, who sat down beside her and frightened Miss Muffet away!”

Behind him Steve hears Clint mutter to Sam, “Am I awake right now?” Sam murmurs back, “Mass hallucination?”

She must hear them because her head falls back against the doorframe as she laughs.

“I’m just here for a trade.” She holds up the package and stares meaningfully at the manila folder still in Natasha’s grip. Steve sees Natasha’s eyes narrow a little before flicking toward him. Their eye contact lasts a minute before Natasha exhales in frustration and holds out the folder. 

The woman takes it with a grin before turning to Steve with the package. She steps into his personal space, pressing the package with surprising strength into his sternum. 

“It was a pleasure Steve.” She whispers under her breath as she leans up and grazes a kiss across his cheek, rocking back her heels she continues to smile up at him before turning around and making her way down the stairway with a pronounced swing to her hips. 

“I have first dibs on the bathroom.” Natasha says as she pushes open the door to the apartment. “I plan on having a bath. No one gets to interrupt me.”

Sam and Clint don’t even argue as they follow her.

Steve loiters in the hall, staring down at the package in his hands.

~

_Steve_

_I can’t think about what you’re doing right now. I can’t think about you at that base and whether the Widow can keep as good an eye on your six as I know I can. I need to distract myself because the idea of you in that place, hurt or bleeding sends me into a panic that cuts at the very core of me._

_So instead I think of you naked, spread out before me because I want to touch you so bad that it burns me. I find myself fantasizing at the taste of you, how you would feel beneath my fingers. I want to hear the sounds you make when I tease you. I want to see you laid out and bare, lips red from my kisses, I want to see you flush from want. I want to you to look at me the way you looked at me up on the rooftop that night. Make me feel real. I want the air between us to be so thick with desire that you can see the vibrations of it._

_I imagine the way your pulse feels when my tongue licks up your neck. I know you have a spot just behind your ear, I remember roughhousing and accidently catching my nail just there and your eyes rolled into the back of your head and I wanted so bad to do it again and again and again and again until you couldn’t speak. Steve I want to discover how to wring every noise from your mouth, I want to find all the places on your body that make your insides purr. I want to bite you on the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to leave the imprint of my teeth. I want whisper ‘mine’ against your skin and believe it._

_I want everything. I want to lay beside you in the afternoon sunlight and just kiss you for hours. How have I always known how wonderful you are Steve, yet I’ve never told you? You shine in my mind Steve. You shine brighter than anything else I have ever seen, even the things I don’t remember. You eclipse the blood and the pain, every bullet, every wound, every slight of hand and cut of knife. You are the thing that holds me together._

_I told you on that rooftop that I jerked off for the first time in years thinking of you and Steve I didn’t tell you it was before I even really remembered you. It was two months after DC and I woke up in some filthy motel room and I was so hard, I guess muscle memory kicked in because I sure as fuck wasn’t sure what to really do and while I stroked myself my eyes fell closed and I could see these blue eyes with impossibly long eyelashes. And that smile. Hair that shone in the light and you bit your lip just so. You were concentrating and I’m cumming all over my hand. Even thinking about it makes my dick twitch, but I’ve been writing this for some time now, thinking about you, of the mental list of things I want to do to you Steve, I don’t think I can run out of things I want._

_I want you so bad. You have no idea. How you completely consume me._

_Have you heard of polaroids Steve? I took one for you._

_Stevie. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself away from you. I wanted it to be finished before I came back but I find myself questioning recently if it will ever be over and you’ve always been so much stronger than me. Even when you were a little guy, you were always so much more than me. And I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you._

_I may have always wanted you._

_James._

~

Steve turns the package upside down on the bed beside him. The familiar usb falls out along with a small square photograph. The quality is bad, even compared to that of the camera on his phone but he can clearly make out torso and the glint of the metal arm. Underneath James’ left pectoral is neat italic script ‘till the end of the line’ and a metal bar, like the one through his tongue, through his nipple. 

Steve feels his breath catch in his throat. A shiver runs down his spine and ends up as a heavy pulse of need to his already hard cock. He bites on his lip fiercely, closes his eyes and thinks of James doing all those things he detailed in his letter as his own hand wraps around his length, squeezing a little. He thinks about worrying James’ pierced nipple. He thinks about licking all the lines that he has inked into his body. He thinks about James pushing him into that wall, their bodies pressed so close. He thinks about James nipping at that spot behind his ear that he had noticed all those years ago and Steve loses himself quickly after that. Strokes himself rapidly until he feels the pressure build, his balls tighten and his spine bow.

He muffles his cry of release into his pillow, the image of James [Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.] bright in his mind. 

Because he’d always shone brightest for Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song USB mixtapes are;  
> USB 1: Gallows - Outsider Art  
> USB 2: Hole - Reasons To Be Beautiful  
> USB 3: The Drips - Fountains  
> USB 4: Deftones - You've Seen The Butcher  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve had avoided grocery shopping since DC. There hadn’t been much cause for it when they were chasing ghosts across Europe. When he and Sam had finally tracked back to New York as a more permanent base; it had been Sam that had picked up that particular chore.

Steve understood the basic premise. He had, after all, done most of his own grocery shopping in DC but that never stopped the crushing sense of overwhelming pressure every time he entered the market. It was just that… there was so much to choose from and then there was the prices. He got inflation. Really. He got it but it still didn’t stop the way his stomach plummeted every time he saw the price of things. Logically he knew he could afford them but he couldn’t just erase the conditioning of his formative years.

So he’d avoided it so far but today Sam wasn’t having it and had dragged him, reluctantly, to the store. Sam was pushing the cart, picking out most of the various items, with Steve occasionally grabbing the odd thing that caught his eye until Sam leans heavily into Steve and whispers, “We’re being watched.”

Calmly Steve steps away from Sam to look at something on the shelves, glancing toward the end of the aisle. She was watching them unashamedly with an amused turn of her lips. Gone were the gaudy gold leggings and Jack Daniels tank, instead she’s dressed like a college girl running errands in nondescript workout gear, hair pulled up into a high pony, basket slung casually over her arm. She meets his eyes with a blatant smirk before lowering her eyes as if she was embarrassed.

He turns to Sam, who looks as confused as Steve feels, and when he turns back his eyebrows shoot up when he realizes she’s going to approach them. 

“Um. Hi!” She’s different. Her tone, the way she carried herself, for a moment Steve compares her to Natasha in his mind, that odd way that she could hide herself within a whole new personality.

“Hi.” He replies in a way that he hopes sounds casual. He was useless at this spy stuff even as much as Natasha has tried to teach him a few things since DC.

“Oh God… this is so embarrassing… I just, um… oh. Ugh. You’re like gorgeous, oh I bet you have people say that to you all the time.” She shakes her head and sort of giggles in that coquettish way that some girls did. “Anyway… so, like, here’s my number.” She holds out a folded piece of paper. “You should, like, um…. Call me?” She smiles winningly before spinning on her heel and bouncing back down the aisle, vanishing around the corner. 

Steve holds the paper in his hand for a minute frozen, completely at a loss to explain what just happened. He can hear Sam chuckling behind him.

“Your face, man.”

He forces himself to roll his eyes at Sam before he opens the paper.

It’s not a number. Of course it’s not a number. He’d known that as soon as he’d made the Natasha comparison in his head. He’d known. Maybe he was getting better at the spy stuff.

_You have a Hydra tail. Dude with the bad taste in country music. You should check your apt for bugs._

Discretely he shows the note to Sam, watching as the other mans eyes glance over the words. “Maybe I should call her, it’s been awhile since I’ve been on a date.”

“You are right about that. Nothing wrong with taking a pretty girl on a date.” Sam confirms, continuing the gambit. 

They complete the rest of the shopping as inconspicuously as possible all too aware now of the man in the Keith Urban shirt that loitered just far enough away that he hadn’t registered with them before. They joke over Sam’s cereal choice and Steve is mindful not to let his eyes drift towards the man too often.

He remains just as aware on the walk back to the apartment even thought the back of his neck prickles with imagined eyes watching him.

~

As soon as they get back to the apartment he and Sam launch into a thorough search of the apartment for bugs. They only find two, both well concealed. Steve crushes them on the kitchenette bench with the heel of his hand.

“They must have planted them while we were in Houston.” Sam says. “I mean, there’s been no other time that one of us wasn’t here since the last bug sweep.” Their eyes meet. “Don’t say it man… don’t you dare say it.”

“Unless they were here while we slept.”

“You had to say it.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s a possibility.”

“I’d like to think between us and Natasha, whose here more often than not, one of us would hear someone creeping. Don’t destroy that illusion for me bro.”

“We’ve got to make sure all possibilities on the table.” His head snaps up as he hears the lock turn in the apartment doorway and he can’t stop the rush of relief when he catches a glimpse of Natasha’s flame like hair.

She catches Steve’s expression and echoes her own with concern, she looks quickly to Sam and then her eyes drop to the crushed bugs between them.

“We got a tip off.” Sam says quietly.

“Who?”

“Who gave the tip off or who planted the bugs?”

“Both.”

“The bugs are Hydra. We’re assuming they’re watching the apartment, we had a tail at the grocery store.” 

“And?”

“Well our package delivery friend from a few weeks ago flirted with Steve and pretended to give him her number but actually tipped us off.”

“Did they make her?”

“Nahhhh. Steve played it pretty cool, he just looked as confused as he normally does when anyone flirts with him.”

“Thanks man.” Steve responds drily. Sam just returns a toothy grin. “No probs dude.”

~

He only receives one more package over the next week. It’s postmarked Toronto. 

The package only contains a usb. No letter. No Polaroid. Nothing else. The usb only contains one song. Just like all the others.

He’s on edge. They do twice-daily sweeps of the apartment but no more bugs show up. 

“What do you think they’re planning?” He finds himself asking Natasha while he watches her meticulously clean her guns.

“I’m not sure.” She replies cautiously. 

“If it was you?”

She sighs and puts down her gun. “They want him back Steve. They’re desperate, they’re getting low on people and they know it’s him taking out their bases. You’re the only point of contact they have. They’re either watching you to see if he makes a connection or they’re scooping you out to see if they can take you and use you as leverage. They already know how difficult it would be to take you; so I imagine they’re waiting to see if he makes contact.”

“They’re using me to get to him.”

“Yes.” They stare at each other for a minute before Natasha picks up the gun to continue cleaning. 

~

He’s wasting time sketching; Sam is watching some sort of ridiculous reality TV cooking program with an intensity that frankly, perplexed Steve. Natasha was brewing some sort of special Russian tea in the kitchenette when the apartment’s door echoes with a knock so vicious the door rattles.

“NAAAAATTTTTT!!!!” Is screamed through.

The red head has her gun in her hand as she unlocks the door. It’s flung open to reveal Clint being held up between package deliverer/Hydra tip off girl and…

“James?”

Her gun is up and pointed directly at him.

“Fuck. NO. Nat! NAT! It wasn’t him. Jesus. Fuck.” Clint stammers and pitches to his right abruptly before James grabs him, righting him. There’s blood dripping down his leg. Natasha lowers her gun slightly but eyes James suspiciously. 

“Are you shot?” She inquires.

“I was going to drop by and then next thing you know I’m walking down the street and my fucking leg collapses under me.”

“They thought you were me.” James says.

“What?”

“You had your hood up and you were favouring your right leg. One of them shot me in my right leg just out of Toronto. They thought you were me. They were aiming for your kneecap to try and incapacitate you.”

“Fucking awesome.” Clint heaved. 

“Put him in the chair, man.” Sam spins one of the dining room chairs around just in time to Clint to flop into it. 

James finally meets Steve’s eyes. “They know I’m here. They saw me grab him. They’ll be here any moment.”

“We need a diversion then.” Natasha prompts..

“Or the real thing to make a run for it?” He replies.

“No.” Steve says firmly.

“I ain’t gettin’ you killed cause of me.”

“Getting yourself killed or captured isn’t the solution either.”

“Am I the only one seeing the solution staring us in the face cause ugh… frankly that would be a first and I’m the shot one.” Clint’s holds up his pant leg while Natasha inspects the wound.

“Through and through. Clean exit.” She says while holding a wad of gauze that Sam had liberated from the bathroom first aid kit to Clint’s leg.

“What’s that?”

“You said I got shot cause I looked like you. Dark clothes. Hoodie up. Favouring my right leg. It’s not too hard to send you out and someone else dressed similarly to you. They’ll have to track both - divide their forces. I suggest Steve personally.”

“What about three of us?” Suggests package deliverer/Hydra tip off girl.

“No. Lily you need to go.” James commands.

“No. Fuck you. I’m not walking out on this.” She retorts with rancour.

“Damn right you are. I’m not getting anyone else in trouble. You’ve done enough as it is.”

“You’re not my dad. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“If you have to use that as an argument, you’ve pretty much nailed why he shouldn’t let you.” Natasha interrupts.

“Damn.” She hisses. “Fine. You get yourself killed I’m going to be pissed. And you – “ She says as she rounds on Steve. “You might be handsome as all hell but if you let him get himself killed I’ll come for you. I don’t care who you are or what you can do.” She turns back to James, a slightly softer expression on her face. “Seriously. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“Go. Go now.”

She throws one last ominous glance over her shoulder at Steve. It’d been awhile since someone had threatened him so outwardly. It was a nice change of pace. He doesn’t want to say that he would probably welcome death if Bucky [James. James. James. James. James.] got killed. He can’t consider that possibility again. The first time was bad enough. 

“So we’re doing this?” James says with a defiant tilt to his chin, fire burning in his eyes.

“Yeah we’re doing this.” Steve replies softly. 

“Well we better do this now before they ambush us.” Natasha throws Clint’s hoodie to Steve.

“Will you be okay?” He asks as he pulls the hoodie on. Thankfully Clint had upsized so it still fit comfortably on Steve’s larger frame.

“Yup.” She nods at Sam. “Grab the bags. We’ll take your car.” Turning back to Steve she studies him as he zips up the hoodie. “Don’t forget to slouch. And limp.”

“I’ve got your bag, Cap.” Sam says nodding to Steve. They’d always had a pre-packed basic kit ready to go on short notice for missions but since the day they had been informed about the Hydra tail and discovered the bugs in the apartment, they had lived until the constant sway of a guillotine, the threat of Hydra sharp and mindful. Along with their kits they had a personal pack and Steve’s contained everything that he wanted from the apartment should he never return. Most importantly four letters and five usb’s wrapped in protective plastic.

“You ready?” Steve asks James. The man opposite him smirks.

“I was born ready, Rogers.”

“Meet you at Stark Tower?” Natasha questions.

“Stark Tower.” Steve confirms as he and James walks out the door.

~

In the stairwell Steve grabs James’ arm.

“You’ll meet us at Stark Tower?” He insists.

James hesitates.

“Please.” Steve whines. “Please. Just so that I know you’re okay and then you can go. I just… I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“Steve.” He whispers.

Steve’s hand fists in the front of James tee. Another thin, worn confection that Steve might be worried about tearing if he could think straight right now. “Please. Please. Please.” He finds the word tumbling from his mouth. “Don’t get hurt. Don’t… Don’t…” Steve’s throat closes up at the word. He chokes on it. His mouth dry and tasting of ash. He wants to beg him not to die. He pulls James closer his chest heaving.

“Hey. Hey. Steve. Stevie it’s okay. Dammit. Look at me you idiot.” Steve feels two hands circle his jaw, one warm and calloused, the other cool and smooth, lifting his head and forcing his gaze to meet James’. “You jerk.” He says warmly before moving in to press the sweetest kiss to Steve’s lips. “I’ve been waiting seventy years to have my time with you Steve Rogers. Ain’t no Hydra agents that are going to get in the way of that.” His voice thick. “I’ll meet you at Stark Tower. Don’t get your dumb arse hurt either.”

“Okay. Okay.” Steve breathed pressing his own kiss to James lips. Sweet. Quick and chaste. He wanted time to explore that mouth. He had to believe he would get it.

~

He loses the thread of the argument fifteen minutes after it’s begun. The only thing he really grasps so far is that apparently Clint is what Tony refers to as a ‘Trekkie’ and that somehow that vitally offends some part of Tony’s soul because “Star Wars is clearly superior.” Though Steve had both on his list it was just one of those things he hadn’t worked around to watching yet because again, Tony for some reason, demanded everyone be present for a complete Avengers viewing.

And in a rare display of unity, everyone had agreed with him.

Though perhaps not all of them had realized how hard it was going to be to get them all together in the one room for an extended period of time outside of having to save the world.

He’s mostly lost the thread of the conversation though as he finds himself staring at the elevator door more often than not. Wondering if it would open. He’d directed JARVIS upon his arrival to bring James straight to the floor they were now on. 

Steve had made his way to Stark Tower (or Avengers Tower, as Tony was now trying to get everyone to call it. “I designed you floors! Your own floors! Batman has nothing on me. He had a cave… I have a TOWER.”) over an hour ago having lost his four Hydra tails. 

Natasha grabs his hand that taps impatiently against his knee.

“He’s fine. Give him time.”

“I just want to know he’s okay.” Steve mumbles. But he sees Natasha’s indulgent smile from the corner of his eyes.

After another twenty minutes he’s fighting the urge to just get up and go look for James on his own, despite how useless he already knows the endeavour will be, when JARVIS makes the announcement. Tony, Clint, Bruce, Natasha and Sam are engaged in a furious game of what he’s been told is called Uno. (“Draw Four bitches!” Crows Clint with some glee while Bruce, Tony, Sam and Natasha all groan.)

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes is on his way up.”

Steve’s head snaps up from where he’d been vaguely watching the game without really seeing it. He can feel Natasha suddenly gripping his thigh very tightly as the elevator doors pop open.

He’s clearly taken the time to go back to where he’d been staying and change. The nondescript sweats and hoodie from the morning had been replaced with torn jeans and another of those thin, worn tees that he seemed to favour. 

“I just had a conversation with the elevator.” He says as he emerges, eyeing the group crowded around the table warily. 

“Yeah, that’s JARVIS.” Steve responds. “It’s Tony’s AI that runs the Tower.”

“Huh.” 

“I have to say, he’s taking it better than you did, Rogers.” Tony says, getting up from his chair and walking towards the other brunette. “You should have seen him that first year. Completely baffled by technology, couldn’t even figure out the espresso machine, bless his little dated soul.” 

“Stark.” Steve finds himself growling on the edge of his seat. Natasha’s death grip on his thigh the only thing still holding him seated. 

“Kept asking me about flying cars. Honestly. I’m Tony Stark. I hear you killed my parents.” He holds out his hand expectantly. 

And for the first time since the Helicarrier, Steve sees James eyes go flinty and cold. “You really wanna shake hands with that guy, the guy who murdered your parents?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t.”

Steve opens his mouth to yell at Tony but stops when Natasha squeezes his thigh harshly, with a cursory glance to his right he sees her shake her head slightly. His stomach drops at the thought that this might be a test. For James. For himself. He doesn’t like that idea. He doesn’t want Tony to fuck this up. He doesn’t want Tony to send James scuttling back to wherever he hides. Steve doesn’t want to fuck it up. He just wants. He’s compromised. He is so utterly and totally compromised.

He wants with his entire being. 

He wants to be with James. Preferably in a bed for an indeterminable amount of time but he also wants James with him. Which, for the foreseeable future will be here, in Stark Tower, with every one else. He wants to do that stupid Star Wars marathon with every other member of the Avengers, plus Sam and including anyone else and he wants James there too.

He wants.

“Their blood is all over my hands. I’m covered in other peoples blood.” James hisses but Tony doesn’t even flinch away.

“You think you’re the only one with blood on your hands here, Terminator? Look around you. Not one person in this room doesn’t - we’ve got the ex-Russian assassin whose kill count is, frankly, both intimidating and arousing. The ex-carnie who likes to pretend he’s Robin Hood and thinks a bow and arrow is a good weapon choice, he was brain washed and shot his own boss. Wait, I’ve been meaning to ask… why did you shoot Fury with a gun?” Tony turn abruptly to Clint to who shrugs before Tony turns back to James. “Whatever… oh, ex-Russian assassin, ex-carnie, whose next? Oh Bruce. Bruce broke Harlem. Bruce turns into a giant green rage monster and smashes things. Which is bizarre let me tell you because Bruce is the biggest science nerd I have ever met and that’s including me. Sam! Sam and Captain Spangly Pants killed for country. Enemy blood is still blood, I’m sure you know that, who else… oh. Me.” There was a deadly pause. “You think you’ve got blood on your hands Robocop? I’m covered in it. I’m covered in so much blood I’m swimming in it. I’ve got so much blood on my hands they gave me this super awesome nickname. That’s right, Winter Soldier…” James flinches slightly. “… you’re not the only one. Before I was Iron Man they called me the Merchant of Death. Your kill count, the Widows kill count, you could combine them and still never have anything compared to mine. You have blood on your hands buddy but … you were brainwashed. You didn’t know who you were when you killed dear old Dad. But me? I designed weapons of mass destruction and let people kill with them. I couldn’t even tell you the names of the people I killed if I tried. Some of them were probably bad, some of them might have been good but I guarantee a lot of them would have been innocent.” There’s a pause as Tony breathes in. “So yeah. I wanna shake your hand, cause we’re all flawed here, we’ve all made mistakes but I trust Cap and he trusts you.”

James falters before reaching out with his own hand, his flesh hand, and grips Tony’s. “Also I want to maybe check out that arm of yours sometime. Tech gets me hot. No pressure.” 

The tension the room snaps as James throws back his head, laughing. 

“You know Uno? No? That’s cool you can sit beside Capsicle and look confused.”

~

“I have my own floor.” Steve whispers later, James thigh hot against his own.

“Yeah? You wanna show me?”

Steve can’t stop the smile that blossoms on his face. “Yeah. Come on.”

They leave the others, squabbling over their eighth round of Uno, (Tony accuses Clint of cheating, Clint vehemently denies the accusation.) and head to the elevator.

“JARVIS can you take us to my floor.”

“Of course, sir.”

“The guy has a body-less butler controlling his building but hasn’t managed to make a flying car. Amazing.” James says wryly, through a lopsided smirk. Steve smiles at him, reaching across the space between him to take James’ hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

“This okay?” He asks. 

James’ reply of “More than okay.” Sends a rush of heat to Steve’s face.

When the elevator door opens and they step out on to the floor Tony had designated for Steve, James lets out a low whistle. “This is all yours?”

“Stark can be annoying but he’s also generous. I don’t stay here often, it was too much, at first and then you…” He swallows. “I liked the apartment.”

“You gotta bed?”

“Such a smooth talker.”

“I like to get to the point.”

Sam had left Steve’s bag from the apartment sitting in the middle of the bed, along with Steve’s laptop.

“You got any music on that thing?” James asks indicating to the laptop as Steve tugged the bag of the bed.

“Yeah.” Steve responds. He sits on the bed and implies for James to do the same. He stifles his smile when he feels the bed dip underneath James’ weight beside him as he opens up the laptop. “I have the music you sent me.”

“Nah. I wanna listen to something of yours. You’ve been listening to stuff from after the forties, right?”

“I listened to what you sent me, didn’t I?”

“Did you?” James responds cheekily. 

“Course I did.” Steve replies quietly, he glances across at James and sees the other man looking down at his hands with a secret smile on his lips. He commits that to memory. The way the smile reaches James’ eyes as if Steve had made him happy. 

“So. Whattya got there?”

“Natasha and I watched this French TV show, I really liked the soundtrack.” He double clicks on the first track. They listen in silence for a few moments. “Not really your speed.” Steve adds.

James is quiet for a moment longer. “Nah.” He murmurs. “I like it though.” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Steve lets himself admit. 

“Me too, punk.” They smile at each other and Steve feels light, lighter than he ever has. He’s giddy with it. This perfect weightlessness. His gaze drifts to James lips and feels his teeth dig into the fullness of his own bottom in lip in expectation and need. He hears James let out a low groan. Their fingertips brush against each other and James strokes his thumb across the knuckles of Steve’s hand. It’s such an innocent touch but Steve’s heart surges at it. 

“Can I kiss you Stevie?”

“Yeah.” He breathes out. “Please.”

James’ lips are just as soft as he remembers, from the rooftop and even from earlier in the stairwell. They move across Steve’s lips slowly, sensuously, and Steve finds himself sighing into the kiss. Fingers stroking, both flesh and metal, across the line of his jaw, thumb trailing up the curve and then tracing the hollow behind his ear lobe. The nail scrapping lightly at the skin sending shivers down Steve’s spine and making his blood sing. 

It’s unhurried and languid as if all of time extended beyond them yet didn’t move at all. As if forever was merely a second and that second was eternal. And when James pulls back he rests his forehead against Steve’s, the warmth of his breath glides over Steve’s lips and into his lungs. It’s been seventy years, yet he’s still the one forcing Steve to breathe. 

“There’s this hole in me Steve.” He whispers. “And it aches and aches and aches and some nights I can’t even close my eyes against the loneliness of it. My soul is riddled with cracks and fissures and it’s a rotten broken thing this hole in me. I remember the ache from before the Soldier. I remember it during the war. I remember it during Brooklyn and that winter that you got really sick Steve, the winter you should have died, I was so sure I was gunna die with you, that this hole in me was goin’ to open its giant maw and swallow me whole and then your fever broke and I felt like I could breathe again. Fuck. It was always you. Always. Dunno why you bothered to keep me around, even when you were small, you were always bigger than the rest of us.”

“You stupid jerk.” Steve whispers back. He can feel the tepid wetness of tears against his neck as James buries his head there. “I needed you. I needed you then. And… I. I need you now.”

Steve feels James draw back and stare at him. 

“I always wanted you to be mine, only ever mine.” He adds.

“I already belong to you, Rogers. I have since the beginning.”

He surges towards the other man. Clashing their mouths together urgently. It’s possessive and wanton and everything Steve could dream of, had dreamed of, imagined in moments that his mind drifted. The bite of teeth, the slide of tongues, the pressing together of lips. Hands grip at each other. Bodies pressed tight. 

“Want you.” Steve hears growled into his ear as James mouths along his neck, finding that spot he’d described in his letter and sucking a mark against the skin. It sends electricity through Steve’s nerve ends, wracks his body with involuntary shudders. 

“Want you too.” He gasps out in reply desperately holding James to him. 

“This has to go.” James demands, pulling away and tugging wildly at Steve’s shirt. It’s pulled up and over his head in an efficient manoeuvre and flutters noisily to the floor somewhere beyond the bed. 

“You too.” Steve says as he grabs James tee. Pulling it over the brunette’s head with much the same courtesy. He pauses and marvels at the expanse of skin revealed to him. His fingers trail across lean muscle, black lines and white scars. He thinks about leaning down and tracing every single inked mark with his tongue, he thinks about mouthing the scars and sucking possessive marks into the creamy skin. 

He traces the words tattooed just underneath the left pec. ‘till the end of the line. His heart swells strangely at the calligraphy of the ink, as if James had already voluntarily marked himself as Steve’s. “You’re beautiful.” He breathes and he can feel James chuckle under his curious fingers.

“I ain’t got nothing on you pal.” James’ own fingers clenching at Steve’s hips. 

“You’re a work of art.” Steve whispers into the other man’s ear before he drags his mouth along his neck. The only response he receives is a ragged moan. He trails his fingers up to the metal bar intersecting through James’ left nipple and he pinches at it a little and James responds with a hard jerk of his hips, a tightening of his grip on Steve’s hips and a choked litany of pleases falling from swollen lips like a prayer. 

“Can I touch you?” Apprehension mixing with overwhelming desire as Steve lets one of his hand drift down and stroke James hardness through his jeans. 

“God yes. Fuck. Steve. Come on.” He pushes into Steve’s touch. Desperately trying to display his acquiescence in actions as well as words. Steve manages to undo the button and zipper of James’ jeans, tugging them down while planting sloppy kisses along his collarbone till they get caught and a heave of gravity sends them both tumbling backwards against the bed.

They laugh freely into each other’s necks and succeed in getting each other naked. 

“You’re gorgeous.” Steve says as they lie beside each other, trailing his fingers along James’ ribs, the burning edge of need slightly dulled, letting him openly observe James body more leisurely and intimately. 

“I’m pretty battered is what you mean.” He replies as Steve traces along a particularly long and nasty scar near his hip. 

“No.” The blonde pauses. “I adore every part of you. The light, the dark and all the shades of grey in between.”

“Fuck Steve. How are you so fucking perfect.” He murmurs against Steve’s lips, pressing feather light kisses to them. Carding his fingers through the short blonde hair to cradle the back of his skull, tipping his head and sliding their mouths together in a relaxed rhythm that he mirrors with his hips. 

Steve feels like his whole body is thrumming on a higher frequency. Pulled tight and blistering at the end of every nerve. Bubbles of anticipation boiling away in the pit of his stomach, the way alcohol did before the serum.

“James.” He finds himself moaning as his hips thrust up, searching for that delicious friction but then he freezes when he feels a hand against his shoulder, pushing him back slightly.

“James?” He questions, trying to frantically clear the fog of arousal to focus on the other man who has on an expression of confusion, a wrinkle in his brow.

“No.” He whispers. “It’s not right. The other name. Try the other name.”

“Bucky.” Steve lets himself breathe out.

He closes his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah. Better. Just between us. Just here. Only you.”

“Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.” Steve repeats with an edge of joy. And Bucky just laughs. “Come’re you idiot.” And pulls Steve in for another searing kiss. “Need you.” 

They push and pull against each other, thrust and withdraw, an edge of desperation in their movements. Bucky takes them both in hand, fisting their dicks together with purpose, their foreheads pressed together.

“Fuck Steve. Wanna. Wanna watch you. Wanna make you. Ugh. Fuck. Fuck. Wanna drive you crazy. Wanna watch you cum. Wanna make you cum. Wanna see you… wanna. Shiiiiiiitttttt. I’m so close Stevie…”

“Me too, I’m with you… Buck. Please. Please. Please.” Steve can feel the pressure building, the white, hot edge of something bigger, something just, almost, nearly… He can’t look away from Bucky’s eyes, the icy blue staring directly into his, he was so fucking close. “Fuck. Buck. Bucky. Bucky.”

“Jesus, Steve… I’m…” He watches as Bucky’s teeth dig into his kiss-swollen lower lip, his eyes squeeze closed tightly and then snap open, as if he didn’t want to look away from Steve as he went over the edge. It was enough to bring Steve into that dizzying burst of pleasure with him.

 

~

They lie facing in towards each other. Reaching out, touching with a casual yet intimate exploration of fingers. Drunk on the feel of skin. Drunk on the ease in which they could reach for each other. Drunk on the familiarity and yet fascinated with the new possibilities. Time was a giant chasm between them but they were here, in this new century, this modern time and it felt right. The laptop is forgotten, abandoned on the floor, the soundtrack long finished playing. 

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asks quietly, letting the pads of his fingers trace along the patterns on Bucky’s skin.

“All the things we’re gonna do together.” He replies with a crooked smile. “Places we’re gonna go, movies we can watch, music we can listen to, food we can try. Have you had sushi yet? Lily made me try it… raw fish. Can you even believe it? Ma woulda lost it. People eating uncooked fish.” 

“How’d you meet her?”

“Lily? She found me actually. She’s…” He stopped for a moment, frowning. “She reminds me of Agent Carter a bit. Maybe I needed that. Maybe it made me feel more steady when…” He pauses again, for longer, Steve doesn’t push him, knowing that the words would come in time. “… I’m not in the best of shape pal. There’s days- there’s days where I think I could just disappear on the wind.”

Steve reaches out and laces his fingers through Bucky’s metal ones. “As long as you know I’ll always be here.” He finds himself replying with a fierceness he’s always possessed when it had come to the people he loved. “Bad days. Good days. I’m always going to be here for you. If you need. If you want.”

“Oh I want pal.” Bucky growls, pupils blowing out and his eyes raking down Steve’s exposed body. They fall back into the sheets, losing themselves and finding themselves in each other.

~

Steve wakes feeling more rested and at ease than he had in a very long time, only to feel the bottomless drop of his stomach when he discovers the left side of his bed empty and cold. His eyes track across the room, taking in the absence of Bucky’s clothes, adding to the growing feeling of emptiness inside him.

Resigned, he pulls himself out of the bed. Closing his eyes against the memories of the night, the feeling of skin under his mouth, nails digging into hips, soft and hard and yielding. He bites the inside of his cheek hard. The pain chasing the impressions away.

He dresses mechanically and heads down to the kitchen. When he steps out from the elevator his nose is assaulted with the heady smell of the Russian tea that Natasha enjoys. She is in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a large cup, talking to… the man turns and Steve blinks blearily. 

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Bucky has his own cup of tea in his hand. “You looked peaceful.”

It’s Tony who speaks next, emerging from behind Natasha with an espresso in hand looking mildly sickened. “Nooo. Nope. No. Ugh. I don’t do cute in the morning. Come and find me when they’ve stopped.” He exits promptly, a gently brush of his hand against Steve’s shoulder, a wordless illustration of support. 

But Steve only has eyes for Bucky.

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last USB song mixtape is: Brody Dalle - Don't Mess With Me
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to add that the music Steve plays Bucky on his laptop is from the Les Revenants OST by Mogwai.
> 
>  
> 
> That's it! That's the lot. There's a couple of people that I need to thank for helping me out with this because they have been the AWESOMEST and this basically wouldn't have happened if not for them. So, you people, who know who you are. Thanks.
> 
> Ummm... comments are most welcome! Constructive criticisms and all that appreciated. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to check out my general weirdness and all consuming obsession with everything MCU at my [Tumblr](http://winterlace.tumblr.com%22)


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